Perfectly Good Reasons NOT to Marry a Death Eater
by TragicSlytherin
Summary: A collection of random tales in no particular order about Lucius Malfoy's blunders as a husband and father.
1. Honey, I Imperiused the Kids

Reason #1

Narcissa Malfoy Apparated onto the lawn in front of the mansion she called home and hurried through the gates. She'd been to tea at the Parkinsons', who'd been reluctant to relinquish her company, and she'd been kept very late. Her poor son would be starving and wailing his tiny lungs out by now. She didn't envy Lucius; little Draco was small for his three months, but what he lacked in size he more than made up for in volume. She'd once caught her husband wearing Muggle ear plugs to bed – "to keep from going deaf," he'd told her, insisting that nothing as flimsy as ear plugs could possibly block out the child's cries entirely. He had also made repeated requests to put a silencing charm around Draco's bassinet – requests which Narcissa had firmly refused.

It was not mother's instinct alone, then, that told Narcissa that something was wrong when she walked through the front door of the manor into perfect peace and quiet. She checked the time again – perhaps the Parkinson's clock had been running fast, and she was earlier than she had thought? No, the clock was all right, and it was a full hour after Draco's usual mealtime. Yet the house remained eerily quiet. It was impossible that Lucius had gone out with the screaming baby, and equally impossible that he'd left their son in the care of the house elves. (Lucius had very little confidence in their ability to accurately care for his son and heir.) Perhaps he had merely taken Draco into a room in another part of the house, so that he could not be heard from where she stood – although, Narcissa had her private doubts that such a place existed. Draco really did have a rather excessively strong voice for anyone, let alone such a tiny baby. She supposed Lucius could have cast a silencing charm on the room in which he was with the baby. But that would hardly be a logical course of action, since he would not leave the baby alone and would be sparing no one's ears but the house elves'.

Mystified and increasingly uneasy, she made her way through the house, searching for her husband and son.

"Lucius!" she called. "Lucius, darling, I'm home!"

"In the study," his voice answered distantly, muffled by several doors. She followed the sound into her husband's spacious, bookshelf-lined work room, where he sat at his desk with a quill and a pile of papers which appeared to hold his interest very deeply.

"How was tea, Love?" he asked absently.

"Lovely. Long. Darling, where's Draco?"

"In the armchair. I think he might be asleep."

Swaddled tightly in a deep green velveteen blanket and fenced in by a cushion, their three-month-old son lay on the seat of the black leather armchair. He was not crying. In fact, he was not making any sound at all. Concerned, Narcissa lifted him out of the nest of blankets to look more closely at him. One tiny foot kicked half-heartedly inside his pale blue sleeper, and his face scrunched briefly before settling back into an expression of sleepy bewilderment. He was not asleep, but it appeared as if remaining awake was costing him great effort. His eyelids drooped lethargically, and his mouth hung slack and open.

"He should be hungry," Narcissa said, a mounting panic building in her chest. "He ought to be starving by now, screaming hard enough to blow the windows out! Lucius, I think something's wrong with him! We've got to get him to St. Mungo's!"

"Relax, Cissa. He's perfectly all right."

"All right? Lucius, look at him!" She carried the infant over to her husband's desk and held him under the lamplight. The boy stared dopily up at his father; his eyes crossed for a minute, then refocused before his eyelids drifted halfway shut.

"Oh, yes, I'd nearly forgotten," said Lucius calmly. "My apologies to you both. _Finite Incantatum!"_ he flourished his wand at his son.

A remarkable change came over the baby. His little face took on an expression of absolute surprise, then one of extreme discontent; and in exactly three seconds, the formerly tranquil infant had gone from half-asleep to wailing loudly enough to shatter glass, his fuzz of yellow-white hair contrasting spectacularly with his screwed-up red face.

"Lucius! What have you done to him?" cried Narcissa in horror.

"You said he ought to be crying, and he is."

"I didn't mean for you to _make_ him cry!"

"I didn't make him cry. I removed the spell that made him _stop_ crying."

"What spell?" shrieked Narcissa.

Lucius was beginning to look wary, but he continued slowly and calmly, as though talking to a hysterical person – because, actually, he was. "Narcissa. The child was, as you said, bawling his lungs out. I knew it was because he was hungry, and therefore would not stop until you came home. So, in the interest of saving his vocal chords and my sanity, I put him under the Imperius –"

"YOU IMPERIUSED OUR BABY?" roared Narcissa above the child's screams.

Lucius backpedaled. "My dear, he was crying himself hoarse. It was only making him unhappier. It isn't healthy for babies to cry so much, and I couldn't stop him any other way…"

"HE COULD HAVE STOPPED BREATHING, AND YOU NEVER WOULD HAVE KNOWN! HE COULD HAVE BEEN SICK, OR IN PAIN, OR EVEN DIED, AND YOU NEVER WOULD HAVE KNOWN BECAUSE YOU TOOK AWAY HIS ONLY WAY TO TELL YOU ANYTHING'S WRONG!"

Lucius was subtly backing his chair away from her, trying to keep from wincing. "Darling, he was already crying. I wouldn't have been able to tell the difference."

Narcissa stormed away from him, hugging their sobbing son close. "I swear, Lucius Malfoy, if I didn't have to feed him right now, I'd end up in Azkaban for your murder!"

"Now, now, Cissa, you don't mean that. You're a little upset, perhaps overtired –"

"YOU IDIOT DEATH EATER!" she yelled, and exited abruptly, slamming the door.

Lucius Malfoy slept in the guest room for a long time after that.


	2. Engagement Thing

Perfectly Good Reasons 2

"Good night, my darling, dearest Narcissa," said Lucius amorously, punctuating his words with kisses considerably more chaste than those they had shared earlier. (Narcissa's parents were looking on.)

"Good night, my love," she replied. "You'll come again soon?"

"First light tomorrow!" he replied enthusiastically, then leapt jubilantly across the lawn past the anti-Apparition wards in an unusual display of joy-induced exuberance.

He really did look rather silly like that, Narcissa admitted fondly to herself as she watched the retreating form of her new fiancée. It was a good thing she really did love him. When her parents had begun dropping not-so-subtle hints that he was their prime choice for her future husband, she had determined that she would learn to love him, as there would be no escaping the match anyway. Pureblooded families were notorious for arranging matches, and Narcissa knew that this marriage was the one area in which he parents would not indulge her every whim. Therefore, it had been in her best interest to love Lucius Malfoy. Actually, she had been surprised and delighted with how easy it had been to love him; it seemed that, unlike many other pureblood couples who had been married for convenience, she and Lucius were actually well-suited for each other.

Mostly well-suited, at any rate. Narcissa sighed a little as Lucius' silhouette abruptly vanished with a faint _pop!_ She glanced down a little ruefully at the ring on her finger. But really, what had she expected? She knew what he believed and what he was, and loved him the more for it. It was a part of him and his heritage, and a part of her and hers as well. She knew it really should make her happy, not bother her.

But the fact was, she was a woman. What's more, she was a woman intelligent enough to recognize the fact that women's minds work differently than men's. Women have different tastes, different desires. There are a few basic longings common to all women, whether pureblood, Half-blood, Mudblood, or Squib. Gracious, even Muggle women probably experienced something similar.

One of these desires is for a romantic engagement. A woman wants to be swept off her feet, lifted up, and made to feel as if she is the single most beautiful, wonderful, most desirable thing ever to grace the universe.

She does _not_ want to be reminded of her roots, or of her beloved's, or of the hidden purpose behind their marriage that would unite them whether they were in love or not. She does not want to be reminded of the power-struggle shaping their world, or the undeniably sinister things her betrothed does with his spare time.

Unfortunately, Lucius Malfoy was a man who had apparently missed the class on the basic desires of women. Given that, she supposed he had done remarkably well. In fact, he'd gotten almost everything perfect. Asking her parents' permission first so that they could be alone, arriving with flowers, going down on one knee, kissing her hand (initially, at least), praising her worth to the skies, rejoicing to the point of absurdity at her acceptance, and following up with the most passionate snog session of their relationship to date. Only one thing had been amiss, and Narcissa felt she had hidden her disappointment well.

Really, she supposed she ought to have been pleased rather than disappointed. After all, the ring was pure gold, with a large, flawless diamond and four deep green emeralds. And she was just as Slytherin as he was – maybe even more so.

But the _snakes_…

Snakes for an engagement ring really seemed a bit excessive. Yet, there they were, two shining, golden-scaled serpents with emerald eyes twined around her finger, nose to nose with the diamond in between. Actually, it looked rather like they were kissing. She supposed it was sort of romantic in its own way, and certainly symbolic.

But they were still snakes.

She sighed again. It really wasn't so bad, she reasoned with herself. It was not as if she had some irrational dislike for snakes, under ordinary circumstances. And she was marrying a man she actually loved, and her parents were happy about it.

If, in exchange, she had to put up with a snake or two, she supposed she could live with that.


	3. And You Thought Inlaws Were Bad

In six months, Narcissa Black would be a married woman. Bearing a new last name – Malfoy – she would leave the home of her childhood and relocate to the imposing Malfoy Manor to live out the rest of her days with her husband. She would manage the household, direct the house elves, play hostess to friends and people of importance, be her husband's companion, and eventually bear his children. The prospect excited her, but she couldn't be honest without admitting a slight touch of nerves, too. Still, she was enthusiastic as she worked with her mother to plan her wedding. It would, of course, be a spectacularly grand affair, with jewels and silk tablecloths and crystal goblets and goblin-made silver and gauze draperies, and the finest musicians, the oldest wines and meads, and the most lavish of banquets to entertain the hundreds of immensely important guests who would attend.

"Will silver satin do for the bridesmaids, Mother?"

"Why, yes, darling, that sounds lovely. An excellent choice, I think. How many have you so far?"

"Ten, including the matron of honor. Look, mother, there's an owl!"

It was from Lucius, and contained an alphabetical list of people his family thought should receive and invitation to the wedding. Narcissa had requested it only a few days before, and she had to admire the promptness with which her request had been honored. She sat down with her mother to combine his list with one of her own, resulting in a final guest list. She was pleased to discover that many of their invitees overlapped, though they each, naturally, had included some guests that were essential only to their own families. Narcissa began dictating the names to a quill, being careful not to allow any repeats. It took her quite some time, and she was glad when she paused for a moment and found she was nearing the end of the task. Newly determined to finish, she read off three more names – and startled so badly that she nearly knocked her chair over.

It had to be a joke; Lucius couldn't possibly be serious about inviting _him!_

Could he?

Moments later, she had Flooed into his drawing room with the list. "Please tell me this was supposed to be funny," she begged, pointing to the name near the bottom.

Lucius' face, which had brightened with an actual smile at her appearance, fell. "I'm afraid not," he said quietly.

"What? Why? You can't possibly _want _him there! I mean, I know you're on his side – we both are – but still! Having him there _in person?_"

"I'm afraid it's strictly necessary."

"I don't see how it is! I mean, _think_ of it, Lucius! Can you imagine? Him storming around, terrifying and threatening the other guests, bragging about all the nasty things he's had done to Muggles and to people who oppose him, trying to recruit those who aren't his already and scolding those who are?" The thought was making her panicky, and she had to force herself to calm down. "Not that I'm opposed to that in general," she clarified hastily, seeing an odd, cold look come into Lucius' eye. "But at a _wedding_…"

Lucius sighed. "I quite understand how you feel about it, Cissa. But consider: what might happen if we are married and he is _not_ invited?"

That stopped Narcissa in her tracks. She hadn't looked at it from that angle before.

"It would be deemed a grievous insult, of course," Lucius went on, answering his own question. "And I'm sure you've heard rumors about his reaction to insults."

She had.

"You're right, of course, dearest," she admitted, trying to suppress a shudder. "I hadn't thought of that." She suddenly felt tears creeping behind her eyelids. Visions of her lovely wedding being ruined by one invited but unwanted guest danced in her head.

"Now, Narcissa," said Lucius, catching her expression. He really couldn't take a storm of tears over this, because it was one matter in which he could not give in to her. "You can see as clearly as I can how necessary it is. Besides, he may receive the invitation but elect not to attend. I don't think he enjoys things like weddings very much."

"No, only ruining them," she said bitterly, staring at the expensive carpet.

"Yes, but we're both pureblooded," he reminded her. "He wants to encourage marriages like ours. With Mudbloods or blood traitors it would be different – but those weddings he ruins whether invited or not." Lucius smiled, trying to make a joke of it.

Narcissa didn't think it was very funny.

"Come, love, write him an invitation. It'll be all right, you'll see." He drew her close and wrapped her in a comforting embrace.

She melted a little. He really did love her, and she him, and that was something. Still, she couldn't help but wish for a moment that her husband-to-be could have chosen a hobby other than being an actively participating Death Eater.

Resigned to but not pleased with the situation, she Floo'ed back home and began writing the invitations. She allowed herself a grimace of disgust when she wrote the name _Lord Voldemort _across the envelope, but managed to work herself into a sort of false contentment by repeating Lucius' arguments to herself. He was right; it had to be done; it was all for the best. She refused to let herself be annoyed by it any more.

That is, until she realized she had no earthly idea how to address the damned thing.


	4. Baby, It's Cold Outside!

Narcissa was not angry.

She was furious.

The Dark Lord had declined the invitation to her wedding with Lucius Malfoy, but that was not what she was angry about. In fact, she was rather glad of it. What she was _not_ glad about was the fact that the horrid wizard had abruptly decided that he needed _all _of his Death Eaters at his side _immediately_ – five minutes before the wedding ceremony was to start. In an agony of pain from the Dark Mark searing his forearm, Lucius had been forced to Disapparate away and find out what the Dark Lord wanted – so Narcissa had been informed by an anxious groomsman, who had then Disapparated himself.

Narcissa and the wedding guests had been forced to wait a full two hours until the groom was able to return, slightly intoxicated and very apologetic. Apparently, he'd been compelled to attend a sort of twisted Death Eater variety of a bachelor party – one which involved lengthy congratulations from each individual Death Eater, accompanied by shots of Firewhiskey, followed by breaking up a Muggle wedding celebration and torturing the wedding party. Of course, she did not learn any of the details until after the ceremony in which she was forever joined to a ruddy-cheeked and breathless Lucius Malfoy.

But even then, she was not truly angry. Annoyed, yes. Irked, yes. But it had come out all right in the end, because fully half the wedding party and many among the guests were Death Eaters as well. Those who were forced to wait understood, and when the absent Death Eaters returned, the wedding went forward. The ceremony was splendid, the reception spectacular; and she and Lucius had been whisked off to a villa in the French Mediterranean for their honeymoon. The first day had been sheer bliss, as had the second. Then, on that third evening away, Lucius tore himself away from her in the midst of a passionate kiss, clutching his left arm.

"So – so sorry, love!" he panted, in between gasps of pain. "He's calling – I'll be back as soon as I can!" and with a look of pure anguish, he grabbed his wand from the nightstand, turned on the spot, and Disapparated. Narcissa was left half-sitting on the bed in utter shock, which instantaneously morphed into blinding rage. Not rage at her new husband, of course, but at the accursed, damnable tyrant to which he was enslaved. What she would not give if she could just –

And then she stopped, wide-eyed, with complete surprise at the sight that met her outraged gaze.

Apparently, her husband, in his hurry to depart, had left without a few rather important things.

Her anger was momentarily stymied as she fought the urge to giggle at the predicament in which Lucius must have found himself at that very moment.

And then, with a loud _bang!_ he was back, looking extremely embarrassed and rather horrified.

Narcissa was the first to recover. "A little chilly, were you?" she asked archly, an eyebrow raised.

"T-tr-trousers!" he stuttered wildly.

"There," she said, pointing out where they lay in a heap on the floor. While he put them on, she ran and fetched his shirt and robes. Draping them around his shoulders, she pecked him on the cheek and whispered, "Don't forget anything this time. And hurry back."

"Of course, dearest," he said, and disappeared once more.

Narcissa finally indulged in the laughter she'd been repressing. She was still angry, she really was, but the image of her husband Apparating into a meeting of Death Eaters sans clothing was entirely too absurd not to be recognized by a good laugh. She didn't stop until she was startled by another loud _pop!_

There stood Lucius again, more breathless and redder in the face than ever.

"What?" she asked, surprised. She didn't see anything amiss.

"Boots!" he explained. He dashed to the closet and hopped across the room, pulling them on. "Goodbye, love!" he called before Disapparating for the third time in the last four minutes.

Narcissa wondered if this sort of thing happened often among Death Eaters couples, or if it was just her.


	5. Mummy, I've Learnt a New Word

_A/N: Quite a bit of cutesy fluff in this one. And a pattern begins to appear – suddenly, we being to understand why Draco is an only child…. _

* * *

Narcissa smiled at the idyllic sight of her husband playing with their eleven-month-old son. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, and Lucius had decided the moment was right for some quality time with little Draco (who, coincidentally, happened to be uncharacteristically cheerful just then.) Lucius had the baby seated on his lap, facing him, and was attempting to teach him words.

"Say, 'Mum'," he instructed the little boy.

"Oh!" said Draco, wide-eyed.

Lucius smiled fondly. "No, that's not quite it. Try again. 'Mum'."

Draco looked away and didn't say anything at all.

"No, no, no. Over here. Look at Dad. Come on," coaxed Lucius.

The baby looked up at him and giggled.

"Say, 'Mum'," Lucius instructed again.

"Ep," said Draco, looking decidedly disinterested.

"All right, we'll try something else. How about 'Dad'? Can you say 'Dad'?"

Draco blew a raspberry at his father. Narcissa, watching from the doorway to the sitting room, stifled laughter, and Lucius looked disconcerted. "That's not nice," he told the child on his lap chidingly. "Say 'Dad'."

"Bah!" exclaimed the little boy scornfully, then let out another gleeful chortle.

Lucius frowned, but his eyes were laughing. "That's a fine way to treat your father, Draco! Come now, say it. Say 'Dad'."

The baby lunged and tried to crawl off his father's lap onto the sofa.

"And just where do you think you're going, little one?" inquired Lucius with mock haughtiness, fetching him back and settling him again.

The little boy laughed and grabbed at Lucius' voluminous sleeve.

"What are you doing?" asked Lucius.

Draco reached again, and this time his little fist reappeared wrapped around his father's wand. "Ah!" he announced proudly, holding it up and waving it in Lucius' face.

Lucius smiled indulgently and pushed it away, then gently pried it out of his son's grip . "Yes, that's my wand. It's very important. We use wands to do magic."

Draco let out a shriek of delight.

"Someday, you will have a wand, too. Can you say 'wand', Draco?"

"Mggrklll," replied the boy, beginning to lose interest again.

"You can do it. Say 'wand'."

Draco thought he had a better idea. He leaned forward and pulled the end of the wand into his mouth. Lucius hurriedly pulled it away, but not before the baby coughed and choked on it. Narcissa came running as Lucius patted him lightly on the back. "Are you all right, little one? That is why we do not put wands in our mouths."

"Gk!" said the baby, an aggrieved and mightily confused expression on his little face. Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief. No harm done, it seemed.

Lucius looked with distaste at his saliva-covered wand. "I had thought when he grabbed it that he might have a natural inclination for wandwork, but I can see I was wrong," he chuckled ruefully.

"Gk,' repeated his son, who still looked decidedly discomfited. "Gk!"

"Oh, have you got the hiccups?" crooned Lucius. "Another reason not to suck on wands."

"Gk," said the baby, and spit up on his father's lap.

"Gah!" said Lucius in surprise. Narcissa resisted the urge to laugh at the way a little half-digested milk reduced her husband's speech capabilities to the level of their infant son's. Instead, she took out her own wand and _Scourgified_ her husband's robe, then summoned a house elf to bring a polishing cloth for Lucius' wand.

"Well, now we know what happens when one tries to lick one's wand," she said amusedly.

"Actually, I think 'swallow' might be a more appropriate word," said Lucius. "Stuck it down your throat, didn't you, Draco?" he continued, frowning at his son as if he might explode again at any moment.

But Draco himself was perfectly cheerful again, having gotten that out of the way. "Agah!" he shouted joyfully.

"Again?" said Lucius. "No, I don't think so."

"Na, na, na, na, na," singsonged the baby, beginning to play with his fingers.

"Oh, are you going to sing now?" asked Lucius, still holding his spittle-covered wand out of the his son's reach. "Cissa, what's keeping that elf?"

"I'll go and find out," she said, taking off in the direction of the kitchen, where most of them would be at that hour.

She found them working industriously at preparing dinner. "Where is the polishing cloth I asked for?" she demanded imperiously. Each elf cowered where it stood, and one of them began hitting itself in the head with the large pot it had been washing. "Stop that noise!" she commanded, annoyed. The elf looked woeful, but obeyed.

"Eggy is bringing the cloth, Mistress," said another elf fearfully. "Eggy leaves already, but is not back yet."

"Very well," she said. "All of you, punish yourselves for stopping work. And tell Eggy when he returned to punish himself triply for being so slow and lazy." She stalked off back toward the sitting room which held her husband and child. One really did have to be firm with these house elves. Some called in cruelty, but they could be so laggard sometimes. It wasn't as if they had any purpose other than servitude.

She returned to the sitting room to find Draco babbling merrily and Lucius wearing an excited grin.

"He did it!" announced the proud father. "He said a word – his first, I believe!"

Narcissa's own heart swelled with pride. "Really?" she squealed. "Already? And he's not even a year old! Do you think he'll do it again?"

"Draco, tell Mum your new word!" urged Lucius. "Say, 'Crucio'!"

And before Narcissa had time to react, their darling, dimpled, blond baby happily exclaimed, "Coosio!"

Narcissa felt her jaw drop.

"That's right!" answered her husband delightedly. "Very good, Draco!"

"Coosio, coosio!" repeated the infant, bouncing enthusiastically on his father's lap.

Narcissa recovered enough to give Lucius a prolonged, outraged glare. His smile faltered as he realized that he was in serious trouble.

"He wouldn't say anything else," he said sheepishly, trying to defend himself. "I tried all the unusual things, and then I just started saying whatever I could think of, hoping something would take. I didn't think he'd actually _say_ them…"

"His first word," said Narcissa in disbelief. "You taught our son an Unforgivable curse…"

Draco decided that his mum wasn't paying enough attention to him. "Adda Ka-dava!" he declared proudly, with an adorable grin that showed his two teeth.

"_Two _Unforgivable curses!" groaned Narcissa.

"It's just the words, Cissa," Lucius tried to appease her. "I didn't teach him to _cast _them, it's not as if he knows the wand pattern or the thought process behind them…" he trailed off weakly.

"You taught our one-year-old son Unforgivable curses!" she screamed at him.

"Look at it this way, darling, he'll need them someday. He'll have a head start on his peers –"

"HE'S A BABY!" Narcissa exploded. "First you Imperius him –"

"Only once, and that was eight months ago!" objected Lucius.

" – and now you're teaching him Unforgivable curses! What are you going to do tomorrow, induct him as a Death Eater? Do let me know, so I won't be surprised when I see the Mark on his poor little arm! And of course I'll know to expect him to be shipped off to Azkaban for life before his first birthday because some Ministry idiot hears him using 'Avada Kedavra' as a greeting!"

"Now, Cissa, don't be absurd, you're overreacting…" said Lucius futilely.

"Come, Draco, it's time for your supper and a nap," said Narcissa, ignoring her husband and snatching the baby up of his lap.

Lucius watched her storm off toward the nursery with the child, and sighed.

Back to the guest room it was, then.


End file.
